14/02/2001
The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon
¬

[ t h e b e g i n n i n g ]

"I THOUGHT YOU SAID SHE'S A MUGGLE!"

"I thought she was a Muggle, too!"

"Clearly, she's not."

After the initial shock had worn down, the Burrow turned chaotic immediately.

Arthur went with a loud CRACK! to search for the guest, Molly burst into a frantic episode as she tried to recall any sign of Elinor being a witch, Ron had a fit about his and Hermione's cancelled plan, George pulled out his wand to make the knife stop working on its own, while Hermione and Percy were engaged in a serious discussion of whether they knew any Elinor from the past.

"I don't think she's a Gryffindor," Hermione guessed with a frown, "I know most of the girls. We share a dormitory, after all."

"She's turning twenty-two this year, right? That means she's a year above you. One below Fred and George. What's her surname, Mum?"

Molly shook her head, "Rousseau, but she's adopted. One of the women in my team said she had lost her memory."

George snorted, "Also clearly, she doesn't."

Another loud CRACK! was heard and Arthur reappeared, "No sign of her around. Blimey, she's a fast runner."

"Maybe she Apparated?"

"No, I never saw a wand on her before."

Then came the big discussion, a lot of random guesses, pointing fingers, until the clock struck midnight and George was left with the fateful duty to check upon the apparently-not-a-Muggle girl.

☆★☆

15/02/2001
la Deli boulangerie, Kingswear, Devon
¬

"BONJOUR— WHY ARE YOU HERE?"

George was different. That, everyone could tell.

He was less funny, less bright, less laugh, more sarcasm, and more rudeness. Sometimes he stopped mid-sentence as if he was waiting for someone (cough, Fred, cough) to finish it. But he convinced himself that he had his joke shop, his remaining family, fame, fortune, and his Angie. What more could he ask?

Deep, deep inside, the loss of his twin brother and others he had known well, ripped away from life at their ripe age, took an immeasurable toll on him. He felt like a walking zombie, an empty shell of George Weasley without its once glorious content anymore.

Like, right now.

His usual feel of nothingness was present, despite the rich mixture of warmth and aroma attacking his senses. He was just there, where and when his family had ordered him to go —standing alone in the centre of a French bakery with an emotionless face that matched his heart. Scratching his itchy fake ear.

"—Hello?"

George glanced at the younger girl. The height difference between the two caused his bored stare seem highly intimidating.

"George Weasley, right?"

"Right," George coughed uncomfortably, "You're Ellie, right?"

"Elinor, yes," Elinor stiffly replied, "What are you doing here?"

"My mother is supposed to be here, too, but an emergency at my cousin's home made her change her plan last minute. Your container."

As if it was a trick of the eye, Elinor's soft and innocent exterior turned dark. She reached out to snatch the lunch box back swiftly.

"Thanks."

"I see you got back well last night."

If well meant running home at lightning speed then buried herself in a cocoon of blanket, tissues, and three sleeping pills, then yes.

"Yes, I did. Now, if you please get on your way, unless you want to buy some bread."

George furrowed his brows challengingly, "Is this how you treat your customers? With that kind of tone?"

"We are nice to those who deserves to be treated that way. Just go."

"So you think I don't —my family doesn't deserve to be treated well? Is that what you're saying?"

"Sir, please," Elinor sighed, massaging her nosebridge, "What's your problem, exactly?"

"No, what is your problem?" George snarled, "Do you have a grudge against us? My mother was so excited and happy to welcome you to our house. She even made her busy children stay over just so we could see you and get to know you. But you didn't even step into the room! You just ran away, rather rudely if I may say. No manner at all. Especially considering that you're one of us—"

"I am not one of you," Elinor hissed, taking a step closer to the tall redhead, but George didn't back down. Instead, he spoke more spitefully than ever, right at Elinor's face.

"Yes, you are. Did something happen to you, so bad you can't even see magical power in action? Three years ago, you're eighteen, so you have graduated. Did you fight? Or were you too busy running away, cowering in fear of magic like you did yesterday? Did you even know there was a fight? Were you a snake? I bet you were in Slytherin. Maybe your parents were Death Eaters and while they did your dirty work of killing actual worthy people, you were busy twirling around in your mansion. What's you real surname? Did they die?"

"GET OUT!"

Elinor's thunderous scream startled the whole bakery.

Bielle, who was serving a buyer at the counter, jumped in surprise. Cameron, Ezme, and Etienne poked out their heads from behind the sacred kitchen door.

George stumbled back a bit. His eyes widened as he took in Elinor's heavily heaving chest and reddened face.

He realized that he didn't have any mouth filter when he was mad. But he only meant to taunt and tease her a bit. He didn't know she would explode to this extent.

Anger was literally radiating off her whole being.

Heck, even Elinor herself was surprised by her own reaction.

George scoffed awkwardly, "Hey... I'm surprised the owner still hires you. Screaming at your customers tend to put business in rough waters—"

"I hate magic," she hissed, "I hate you. And you have no idea of the things I've been through so STOP. STOP ACTING LIKE A KNOW-IT-ALL."

Elinor felt something snapped within her head and a splitting pain attacked her skull.

It was like having a thousand knives pierced into that spot over and over again; scalding, unbearable.

Maybe he did it. Maybe he casted it nonverbally, just the way Professor Flitwick taught them.

She blinked, once, and found herself gripping her hair, hunching over the closest showcase with one hand holding it.

She blinked again, twice, and found herself toppling down the whole exhibit of baked pastries onto the floor.

And then she was no more.

☆★☆

Meryl Streep as Bielle Rousseau